


Eight Days a Week

by purewanderlust



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Epistolary, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Grantaire's Very Cute Dog, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-10-27 17:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17771297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purewanderlust/pseuds/purewanderlust
Summary: Grantaire needs someone to watch his new dog while he's out of town. Problem is, it's the weekend before Valentine's Day and all of his friends have plans, since they're all coupled up and disgustingly happy. Well. All but one of them.(Grantaire gets a dog. Enjolras gets more than he bargained for.)





	1. Wednesday

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! This was supposed to be a oneshot and it quickly spiraled out of control. Such is my life, I guess.

 

Enjolras loved his friends. He would do anything for them, provided it was within his power. There wasn't a person who knew him that would deny this to be the truth.

Well. Perhaps there was one person.

“For the last time,  _ no _ . I'm not asking Enjolras.”

Enjolras froze, hand hovering over the doorknob. From inside the room, Grantaire's voice continued.

“We're not exactly friends, y'know? He doesn't owe me any favors.”

Enjolras swallowed. He’d always kind of suspected Grantaire didn't like him, but it was another thing to have it confirmed. A second voice replied too quietly to hear, and Grantaire laughed.

“When you eavesdrop you’re bound to end up hearing something you don’t want to hear.” Combeferre said from behind him. Enjolras jumped a foot in the air, barely containing what would’ve surely been an undignified shriek. His heart was pounding.

“Was that entirely necessary?” he hissed.

Combeferre quirked an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. “It wouldn't have been if you weren't listening at a door I needed to go through,” he said mildly, pushing the door open and slipping past. Enjolras followed, chastened, and tried not to notice how the conversation dropped off as soon as he came into the room. He carefully kept his eyes from straying towards the back of the room, but he could tell that he was being watched.

Courfeyrac hopped up from the back table where he had been sitting with Grantaire and Eponine, and made a beeline for Combeferre. “ _ Mon amour _ !” he cried dramatically, all but collapsing into his boyfriend's lap. “It's a tragedy, truly, it is!”

“What's that?” Combeferre asked, trying and failing to keep the smile off his face.

“R it's going to spend the weekend before Valentine's Day  _ working _ !” Courfeyrac wailed. “He's gotten as bad as Enjolras!”

Enjolras shot him a glare, but, as usual, Courf was unfazed.

“From my understanding, this commission is quite the honor,” Combeferre said sensibly. 

At the back of the room, Grantaire put his face in his hands. “It's not that big of a deal,” he said, muffled.

“You got a commission?” Enjolras demanded, forgetting altogether his intentions to keep to himself.

Grantaire peeked at him from between his fingers. “As I said,” he repeated, “It’s really not a big deal.”

Courfeyrac scoffed, all traces of his earlier melodrama forgotten. “R, they’re basically asking you to  _ be _ Matisse! That’s amazing!” 

Enjolras had never claimed to be a connoisseur of the arts, but some names were notable enough for even him to recognize. “The painter?”

“He wasn’t just a painter!” Grantaire let his hands drop away from his face, indignant. “He was a  _ genius _ ! A painter, yes, but also a sculptor and a printmaker. He was active for at least four significant art movements, one of which he practically invented!” 

“So he was a...really good painter?” Enjolras hazarded. Grantaire groaned, but at least he was looking less embarrassed.

“You’re hopeless, Apollo, honestly. It’s a gross oversimplification, but yes, he was a _really good_ _painter_.” 

“And what does Matisse have to do with your commission?” 

Grantaire shrugged. “It's really not that interesting.”

Enjolras continued to stare at him, waiting for more details and after a few moments, he caved. “A museum in Nice wants to create an interactive exhibit of Matisse's studio space. For obvious reasons, they don’t want to put his actual work in the space, so they’ve asked me to create reproductions of some of his most famous pieces for the exhibit. They’re even willing to pay for travel to go down and work on it over the weekends, too.” By the end of his explanation, Grantaire was smiling a little to himself. For all his protestations, it certainly seemed like a big deal.

“That’s incredible, congratulations!” Enjolras exclaimed. Grantaire blinked, looking a little startled. His face was starting to turn pink again.

“Um, thanks. It’s a good opportunity, I guess.”

“Too bad you’re going to have to turn it down,” Courfeyrac interjected. Grantaire shot him a dirty look and Enjolras glanced between them.

“Turn it down?” he repeated, “Why on Earth would you turn it down?”

“I never said--” 

“You did too! You said that if you couldn’t find anyone to help you out this weekend, that you might have to reject the gig altogether.” 

“I’ll figure something out.” Grantaire grumbled.

“What do you need help with?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire chuckled, but there wasn’t much humor in his tone. 

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty head about, Apollo.” 

Enjolras frowned. “Grantaire, this sounds like an important job. If there’s something keeping you from taking it and I can help, I would like to do so.” He had a niggling feeling that this was related to the conversation he had overheard earlier, and very determinedly did not glance in Combeferre’s direction.

Grantaire stared at him for a long moment without saying anything. It made Enjolras feel weirdly self-conscious. “You really want to help?”

“Yes?” Enjolras said. “I’m not sure why that’s surprising to you. I always want to help my friends if I can.” He tried not to think about what he'd overheard--that Grantaire didn’t consider them friends at all. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

Grantaire kept staring at him. It was very unnerving. “Tell you what,” he said finally. “We can discuss this after the meeting, if you haven’t changed your mind. But in the meantime, it looks like you’ve got some world-saving to do.” He nodded towards the room at large. 

Enjolras tore his gaze away and jumped, realizing that as they had been arguing, the rest of their friends had slowly filtered in and taken seats. None of them seemed to be paying much attention to the conversation, too caught up in their own discussions, and more than used to the back-and-forth between Enjolras and Grantaire. Enjolras felt unsettled nonetheless. 

“Fine,” he said brusquely. “We’ll talk afterwards.”

Grantaire raised his mug and tipped his head in acknowledgement. Enjolras rolled his eyes. Left with nothing else to do, he turned to the others to start the meeting.

For perhaps the first time in recent memory, the meeting flowed smoothly without ever getting off task. Grantaire didn't seem interested in his usual needling, instead watching Enjolras raptly from the back of the room between sips from whatever was in his coffee mug. It should've been unsettling, but after a moment of reflection, Enjolras realized that Grantaire  _ always _ gave him his full attention. It was just that usually there were more verbal interjections. Having those bright blue eyes intent on him without any argument made Enjolras feel oddly out of sorts, but he ignored the feeling and proceeded doggedly through the agenda.

The other person who was usually responsible for meetings going off-task was Courfeyrac, but he seemed unusually focused as well. The few times Enjolras caught his eye, a strange grin passed across his face. It was an expression that said he was up to something, but since Enjolras couldn't figure out what, he was forced to leave it alone.  The result was that they made it through the meeting itinerary in half the time it regularly took. Combeferre passed out assignments and the next thing Enjolras knew, they were finished, a full half hour earlier than planned.

Bahorel and Bossuet were already loudly discussing going downstairs to drink, so Enjolras got up, intending to intercept Grantaire before he inevitably joined them. 

He needn't have bothered. Grantaire hadn't left his seat. He was drawing something, absorbed in his work, dark curls falling into his face. When Enjolras approached, he glanced up and flipped his sketchbook closed.

“What can I do for you, Apollo?” He asked cheerfully. Enjolras frowned, already annoyed despite his best efforts.

“I believe I'm meant to ask you that question,” he retorted. 

Grantaire chuckled. “Your enthusiasm is appreciated, but you really don't have to do this.”

“I want to,” Enjolras insisted.

“You don't even know what I need help with.”

“Then perhaps you should tell me.”

Grantaire sighed, raking a hand through his curls. “I need someone to watch my dog while I'm out of town.”

“You have a dog?” Enjolras asked, “Since when?”

“About a month ago,” Grantaire answered. “Remember that pet adoption drive we donated December's bake sale money to?”

“I didn't realize you adopted a dog,” Enjolras said. He felt kind of guilty about that. Maybe Grantaire was right and they weren't really friends at all. “We?”

Grantaire looked uncomfortable. “The ABC. I _did_ actually participate, you know. I baked brownies,” he added, defensive.

“I didn't mean it like that!” Enjolras said hastily. He knew all too well how easily the discussion could turn into an argument. “I've just never heard you include yourself when talking about our events. It's...nice.”

Grantaire didn't seem to know what to say to that. The silence stretched out between them.

“Anyway,” Enjolras cleared his throat. This was the problem with talking to Grantaire. There were traps and pitfalls hidden in every conversation. Sometimes Grantaire looked at him like he was in actual, physical pain. Enjolras was never quite sure what he'd done to cause that reaction. “So what would dogsitting entail?”

Grantaire eyed him dubiously. “Have you ever had a pet before?”

Enjolras shrugged. “How hard could it be?”

“It's not as easy as you think.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of it?” Enjolras demanded. 

“It's just asking a lot and I'm not sure you know what you're getting into.”

“I can manage,” Enjolras said stubbornly. “Besides, it's not like you have a lot of options. Courf and Ferre are out of town all weekend, both Feuilly and Eponine are working doubles, and I'm sure the others have plans too, or you would've never asked me in the first place.”

“Technically, I still haven't asked you,” Grantaire muttered. Enjolras gritted his teeth.

“You don't have to, I'm offering.” With an effort, he gentled his voice, looking Grantaire in the eyes. “Just let me help you, please.”

And there it was again, that pained expression, like Enjolras was the source of all his woes. “Alright, fine.”

“Wait, really?” Enjolras asked. He had expected more of a fight.

“Yes, really. You can dogsit for me.” Grantaire shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re making a case to spend your whole weekend dealing with someone else’s dog.”

“Only my flat doesn't allow pets,” Enjolras remembered belatedly. “I suppose...could I just stay at yours?”

Grantaire looked momentarily alarmed before he reined it in. “ _You_ stay at _mine_? Uh...yeah, I guess that will do. It's a bit messy, though.”

“I don't mind.”

“Right,” Grantaire said, voice faint. “Okay. My flight is at ten on Friday. Can you meet me at seven and we can go over what you need to know?”

“Okay.” Enjolras nodded. “Great.”

“Okay, great” repeated Grantaire. He grimaced. “I'm gonna go, before we start echoing, alright? I believe I'm needed down at the bar.”

Enjolras resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and gave a short nod instead. “Alright. I'll see you Friday. Your place.”

“See you Friday, Apollo.” Before Enjolras could find another way to make everything awkward, he had already hurried to join Bahorel and Bossuet, without a backward glance.

Courfeyrac sidled up to Enjolras, a sly grin on his face. “What was that all about?”

“Oh, I think you know perfectly well,” Enjolras retorted. “Stop acting like you didn't engineer the entire conversation.”

Courf shrugged, completely unrepentant. “Well, I wasn't going to let him turn down such a huge opportunity just because he didn't want to ask for help.”

“Didn't want to ask  _ me _ for help,” Enjolras corrected. If anything was clear to him, it was that Grantaire would accept help and friendship from nearly anyone besides him. “Why does he hate me so much?”

Courfeyrac promptly burst into laughter and no matter what Enjolras said, he wouldn't give an explanation, or stop laughing. He left the Musain that evening, feeling confused and cross and like he wasn't truly prepared for whatever he'd gotten himself into.


	2. Friday

Bright and early Friday morning, Enjolras found himself standing in front of Grantaire’s front door, feeling like he was about to face down a dragon. He had a book bag over his left shoulder, a tote bag hooked around his right elbow, and a cardboard drink carrier with two cups of coffee balanced precariously in his hand, but he still had the terrible feeling that he’d forgotten something. Giving it up as a lost cause, he reached out and knocked on the door.

Immediately, there was a great, booming bark from inside that made him jump and nearly spill the drinks. Enjolras cursed as hot coffee sloshed over the edge of one of the cups, spattering his hand. He was still muttering to himself when the door flew open moments later.

“Sorry, sorry, running a bit late…” Grantaire trailed off as he took in the scene. “Did you burn yourself?”

“Only a little,” Enjolras replied, following him into the flat. “It’s fine.”

“You ever heard of lids?” Grantaire asked, eyeing the cups that Enjolras had abandoned on the kitchen table in favor of running his hand under cold water. “They keep things from spilling, you know.”

“They weren’t biodegradable,” Enjolras retorted. “And the cafe was just down the street. It didn’t seem necessary.”

“Oh, of course.”

“The one with the R is yours. You prefer a flat white, don't you?” Silence. Enjolras turned from the sink to find Grantaire staring at him with the oddest expression on his face. “What?”

Grantaire gave himself a visible shake and smirked. “Just thinking about how you’d rather get a third-degree burn than use a non-biodegradable lid.” He shook his head, picking up his coffee. “You’re an absolute trip, Apollo. Come meet my son.”

Enjolras narrowed his eyes, but followed him down the hall to a closed door.

“Had to put him in my room because he got too excited when you knocked,” Grantaire explained. “Watch out, he’s still learning not to jump on people.”

Before Enjolras could express what he felt was perfectly natural anxiety about this, Grantaire had opened the door and a black fluffy blur shot out of the room. He lunged at Enjolras and Grantaire leapt forward and grabbed his collar, pulling him back at the last second.

“No jumping! We’ve talked about this.” Gradually, the dog settled down, sitting neatly at their feet. “Apollo, meet Aristaeus.”

Aristaeus was a massive black German Shepherd, with brown eyes and a mouthful of sharp, perfectly white teeth. He barked happily and wagged his tail, sweeping it back and forth across the floor like a giant, fluffy broom.

“Aristaeus?” Enjolras repeated.

“I thought it was funny. Greek god of shepherds, he’s a shepherd...he also answers to ‘Oose’ or ‘Goose,’ if that’s easier to remember.”

“Why would you call your dog something other than his given name?” asked Enjolras, bewildered.

Grantaire grinned. It wasn’t his usual smirk, it was a real smile with crinkled eyes and everything. The sight had Enjolras reflexively grinning back, even though he had no idea what was going on.

“Oh, Enj. You really never have had a pet, have you?”

For some reason, Enjolras felt his face flush. “My parents weren’t exactly warm and cuddly people. They didn't want to have to deal with an animal.” He crossed his arms, hoping there wouldn't be any follow-up questions.

Grantaire seemed to sense his discomfort, because he didn't comment, just gestured for him to follow him back to the kitchen. “Food’s in that cabinet, he gets one scoop, twice a day. Make sure to keep his water bowl full, he drinks more than I do. Uhhh...leash is on the hook by the door and he needs to go out first thing in the morning to do his business, and then for a longer walk in the afternoon. He’s already been out and eaten once today. God, I kind of feel like a frantic mother leaving her child with a new sitter for the first time. I’m not overwhelming you, am I?”

Enjolras shook his head. “I think I got it all. Does he have toys?”

At the word ‘toys,’ Aristaeus’ pointed ears twitched and he galloped into the living room. A few moments later, he reappeared in the doorway, a lime green stuffed rabbit hanging from his jaws. He trotted straight to Enjolras and dropped it at his feet, wagging his tail expectantly.

Grantaire laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah, they’re scattered all over the place. I tried to keep them in a drawer when he’s not playing with them, but he figured out how to open it, so I’ve just kind of given up.”

Aristaeus barked, impatient, and Grantaire picked up the toy and threw it down the hallway. The dog darted after it, nails clicking on the laminate flooring. “Watch out, if you start a game of fetch he’ll hold you hostage for hours if he can get away with it.”

Sure enough, the dog was back in second, dropping the toy at Enjolras’ feet. He picked it up and tossed it down the hall. “I don't mind.”

Grantaire was watching him with an anxious look on his face, but when Enjolras made eye contact, he smiled. “Guest room is all set up for you; it's the door across the hall from mine. I use it as a studio mostly, but I pulled out most of the paintings and opened the window, so hopefully it's aired out,” he explained. “There's also clean towels on the bed. Extra key is in the bowl next to the front door.”

“Great, thanks.”

“Give me a call if you need anything,” Grantaire added. “I'll be back by early Monday afternoon. Is there anything else I am forgetting?”

“I don't think so, you've been very thorough. We'll be fine.”

Grantaire nodded, then glanced at his watch. “Shit! Is that the time? I'm gonna be late!” He went back into the living room, Aristaeus hot on his heels. Enjolras trailed behind, watching from the kitchen doorway as he found his duffle bag and patted down his pockets. “Alright, I think I have everything. Oose! C’mere!” The dog immediately leapt at Grantaire, knocking him back onto the couch.

“Alright, alright, take it easy. I have to go out of town for a few days. I need you to be a very good dog for Enjolras, can you do that?” The dog cocked his head like he was listening, and then licked a slobbery stripe up the side of Grantaire’s face. Grantaire laughed and pushed him out of his lap. “Good boy.” He got to his feet and picked up his duffle bag.

“He really loves you,” Enjolras said, for lack of anything else to say.

Grantaire’s face flushed scarlet. “He’s a great dog. Hopefully he won’t be any trouble for you this weekend.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine.”

“And, uh, thanks. I mean really. This is a big favor, and you didn’t have to do it.”

“That’s what friends are for, right?” Enjolras said, and if he hadn’t been looking for it, he probably wouldn’t have noticed the way Grantaire flinched.

“Right,” he muttered. “Well. I better get going. See you later?”

“Have a safe flight,” Enjolras replied, feeling more awkward by the second. Grantaire gave a sharp nod and walked out the door, and Enjolras was all alone in his apartment. A sharp bark from behind made him jump. Well. Not entirely alone.

“Do you want to play fetch?” he asked, turning to the dog. Aristaeus huffed, looking at the door and then back at Enjolras, tilting his head like he was asking a question. “I’m sorry, he’s gone.” Aristaeus walked over to the armchair and jumped up into it, curling into a ball. He stared mournfully at Enjolras. He hadn’t known that dogs could look mournful.

Enjolras shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around. It wasn’t the first time he had ever been to Grantaire’s place, but he hadn’t been there often. Group gatherings were held at larger flats, and for whatever reason, Enjolras had never really spent much time alone with Grantaire.

The living room was cluttered, but not messy like Grantaire had insinuated. The couch was worn, but clean, a bright green throw draped over the back. There were piles of books on every surface, and empty wine bottles littering the mantel, but they had been rinsed and repurposed as candleholders, coin banks, and incense burners. One had been intricately painted to look like the facade of the Musain, complete with tiny Joly and Musichetta hanging out of the upstairs window. Enjolras took a step closer to examine it, smiling slightly at the French flag hanging over the doorway, and the tiny Bossuet painted just below it, waving up at the others.

Besides than the wine bottle, there didn’t appear to be much of Grantaire’s own work in the living room. The walls were covered in prints, some that Enjolras recognized as famous pieces, and some bizarre and abstract. Next to the television was a bookcase full of DVDs; Disney to Renoir and everything in between, stacked haphazardly with no clear organizational system. There was an empty crystal ashtray on the table, next to the tabletop book of renaissance art Eponine had gotten Grantaire for his birthday. In the kitchen, there was a calendar pinned to a corkboard, alongside a scribbled grocery list and a poem about lentils written in Jehan’s looping cursive. There were also candids of their friends pinned around the edges of the board: Bahorel and Feuilly arm-wrestling, Marius flushed scarlet at something Cosette was whispering in his ear. Enjolras was surprised to find a picture of himself, laughing at something Courfeyrac was saying, while Combeferre watched them fondly.

Enjolras was disappointed to discover that there wasn’t any original work in the studio-cum-guest room. He vaguely remembered Grantaire saying he’d moved most of his pieces out of the way, but Enjolras had hoped to get a look at some of them. Grantaire was notoriously shy about his own work and, other than the random sketch here and there, Enjolras hadn’t seen any of it. He knew Grantaire painted, and dabbled in photography and sculpture, so the lack of evidence was a little dissatisfying. The guest room bed was actually a futon, which had been folded flat and made up with fresh bedding, clean towels stacked on the end. There was an empty easel leaned against the wall opposite the bed, and an ever-so-faint smell of turpentine, but otherwise it looked like a generic bedroom. Unlike the rest of the house, Enjolras couldn’t feel the touches of Grantaire’s personality in here, though he suspected that wouldn’t be the case in its normal state.

Enjolras left everything but his laptop in the guest room and headed back out to the sofa. Aristaeus was still curled up in Grantaire’s armchair and didn’t even look up when he dropped down onto the sofa and opened up his laptop. There were some emails that needed responses, and he figured he might as well get some work done, weekend or no.

Several hours later, Enjolras found his focus disturbed by the buzzing of his cell phone on the coffee table. He picked it up and saw that he had a text message from Grantaire.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/63905916@N03/46436747344/in/dateposted-public/)

Enjolras grinned and tapped out a response.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/63905916@N03/46246134625/in/dateposted-public/)

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/63905916@N03/46246136015/in/dateposted-public/)

Enjolras put the phone down and glanced up at the clock. He’d been working for hours, he was probably due for a break. “Well, Aristaeus, what do you think? Should we go for a walk?”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, the dog leapt to his feet, tail wagging frantically. He bolted to the door and started to bark, jumping up and down in excitement.

“Oh, wow, you’re really ready, huh?” Enjolras grabbed his coat and scarf, throwing them on as quickly as he could. The closer to ready he was, the more excited Aristaeus became, whining and running circles around him as he fiddled with his gloves. “Okay, okay, hang on.”

Enjolras got the leash clipped to his collar with little issue, and then led the dog out of the flat, making sure to lock up. Everything seemed to be going fine as they made their way down the stairs and onto the street. Aristaeus kept pace with him as they crossed the street to the park, tromping through the sludge of the recent snow. There was a brisk breeze, but it wasn't terribly cold, and thought the trees were still bare, the sun was shining brightly. The dog seemed content to stay on the path, occasionally drifting off the sidewalk to smell a particularly interesting bush or patch of ground. It was actually surprisingly pleasant.

“I’m not sure what R was so worried about,” Enjolras said as they headed down the path further into the park, “This isn’t so hard.”

About ten feet ahead, a squirrel skittered across the path and into the grass. Enjolras felt, rather than saw the dog go still for a split-second. “Hey, don’t--” before he could finish his sentence, Aristaeus darted forward, yanking the leash with surprising strength. Enjolras tried to resist, but within moments, he had lost his balance, and toppled to the ground. That didn’t stop Aristaeus, who kept sprinting through the muddy grass, dragging the very unfortunate Enjolras behind him, clinging to the leash for dear life.

“Arist--aristaeus! Oose!” Enjolras yelled, but it was no use. The dog kept running and Enjolras kept being dragged, desperately trying to get back to his feet.

The squirrel ran up a tree and Aristaeus skidded to a stop at its base, whining at the missed opportunity. Enjolras staggered to his feet, groaning at the ache that radiated through his whole body. He was covered head-to-toe in mud, and the dog didn’t look much better off. 

“What the hell, Oose?” he shouted. “That’s a very bad dog!”

At his tone, Aristaeus’ tail drooped and he cowered. Despite his irritation, Enjolras felt inexplicably guilty. “Alright, I’m sorry I yelled, but that was unacceptable behavior. Let’s go home and get you cleaned up.”

Back at Grantaire’s flat, the dog seemed mercifully placid about having a bath. He hopped into the tub and allowed Enjolras to scrub the mud out of his thick fur.

“Don’t ever do something like that again,” Enjolras said sternly. “You could really hurt someone, and besides, it’s not appropriate. I bet you never do anything like that to R.”

Aristaeus blinked at him.

“I mean, you probably couldn’t drag him around anyway,” he added. “Grantaire’s bigger than I am, and he’s got really broad shoulders. I’m sure he’s strong from all that boxing. _And_ he’s probably more balanced than me because he takes dance classes.”

The dog cocked his head, looking at Enjolras in a way that felt pitying. He wasn’t sure what he needed pity for, except for the fact that he was muddy, and wet, and probably bruised all over. He sighed, and drained the water.

“Just...I’m not as practiced in pet care as your dad, okay? Take it easy on me.”

After he finished bathing the dog, Enjolras took a hot shower himself, and changed into clean clothes. He went back to the living room to find Goose was asleep in the armchair again, clearly worn out from the day's adventure. Enjolras pulled a movie out of Grantaire’s DVD collection at random and set it to play on the television, before collapsing back onto the sofa.

He had planned to work a little more after the movie was over, but the afternoon’s events had been exhausting, and before he knew it, he was drifting off to sleep, wrapped in the throw blanket from the back of the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagined that Enjolras was watching _Casablanca_ when he fell asleep; it's always felt like a movie that would appeal to both E and R.


	3. Saturday

Enjolras woke up to sunlight shining directly in his eyes, and a warm, heavy weight draped over his entire body. He lifted his head an squinted down at Aristaeus, who was sprawled across his chest and legs, snoring lightly. Grantaire hadn't told him the dog was a cuddler, but then again, he probably hadn't anticipated Enjolras passing out on the couch instead of going into the guest room and closing the door.

“Good morning,” he said awkwardly. One of the dog's eyes opened. “It's not that I don't appreciate the affection, but...I really need to go to the bathroom.”

No response. Enjolras poked the end of this nose. Aristaeus huffed. 

“Come on. I promise I will come right back and--and pet you?” It occurred to Enjolras that he hadn't actually pet the dog, or otherwise shown him physical affection since he had gotten here. Probably why he was being so clingy now. 

He sighed. “I'm sorry. I'm still not very familiar with dogs. How about you let me up and when I get back, I will give you all the belly rubs and ear scratches your heart desires?”

Aristaeus opened both eyes and stared at him for a moment. He snorted and jumped off Enjolras’ chest and retreated to the armchair.

“Thank you,” he heaved himself up from the couch with a groan. His bruises from the walk the day before ached, and he had a crick in his neck from sleeping on the couch, but Enjolras felt surprisingly well-rested. Apparently all it took was a dog to wear him out and an extra soft throw blanket.

After he used the bathroom and washed his face, Enjolras started a pot of coffee. He filled the dog bowl in the kitchen and returned to the living room.

Aristaeus was back on the couch, almost like he was waiting for him. When Enjolras appeared in the doorway his tail started thumping against the cushions. He barked sharply.

“Shhh,” Enjolras said, trying not to smile. “Neighbors are still asleep. Don't worry, I  _ am _ going to cuddle you.” He plopped down on the sofa and immediately the dog was halfway into his lap. “Hey! Wow, I guess you really want petted.” He hesitantly stroked the dog's back, gaining some confidence as Aristaeus pushed into his touch.

“Between you and me, I'm not very good at physical affection,” Enjolras confided. “Courfeyrac once told me that I give stiff hugs.”

Aristaeus made a rumbling noise as Enjolras scritched behind his ears and shoved himself further into his lap.

“I just don't know what to do with my arms!” Enjolras continued. “A handshake or a clap on the shoulder is easy, but hugging is just kind of awkward. And all of my friends are huggers.”

Grantaire was definitely a hugger. It seemed to come naturally to him. He'd throw an arm around Bahorel's broad shoulders and pull him close. Sometimes he picked Cosette up by the waist and spun her around like she weighed nothing. One time, Enjolras had seen him wrap both arms tight around Eponine as she buried her head in his chest. In fact, now that he was thinking about it, he had seen Grantaire hug every single one of their friends--on more than one occasion--but he had never tried to hug Enjolras. Not once.

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Anyways,” he said, obligingly scratching Aristaeus’ belly when he rolled over. “I know you probably get a lot more affection from R, but I promise I'm working on it.”

They stayed like that for a while, until the coffee machine beeped to announce that the coffee had finished brewing. When Enjolras got up, Aristaeus followed him to the kitchen. He ate his breakfast while Enjolras scrambled some eggs for himself. It was oddly cozy. As someone who had lived alone ever since mid-way through university, when Ferre and Courf had finally gotten together, Enjolras found that he kind of enjoyed company, even if the company wasn't human.

After breakfast, Enjolras spent some time checking his email, and editing a speech for his supervisor’s upcoming campaign address. It wasn’t for a couple more weeks, but he felt it was productive to stay on top of it. The dog didn’t seem to require anymore attention, curled back up in the armchair chewing on a rawhide bone, and if it had been a normal weekend, Enjolras would’ve probably been working anyway, unless his friends had decided to get together. 

Somewhere around lunchtime, his phone pinged with a text message. Enjolras scrubbed a hand over his face, slowly coming out of his working headspace. The phone pinged a second time as he reached for it. Both texts were from Courfeyrac.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/63905916@N03/46246199165/in/dateposted-public/)

Enjolras rolled his eyes and tapped out an answer.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/63905916@N03/46246200235/in/dateposted-public/)

Courfeyrac responded so quickly he could’ve been doing nothing else but waiting for a reply.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/63905916@N03/46246201725/in/dateposted-public/)

Against all logic, Enjolras could feel his face heating. 

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/63905916@N03/46436861024/in/dateposted-public/)

Courfeyrac’s only response was a gif from one of his superhero movies.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/63905916@N03/40196062213/in/dateposted-public/)

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/63905916@N03/32218472927/in/dateposted-public/)

This time, it took Courfeyrac a moment to respond.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/63905916@N03/32218474897/in/dateposted-public/)

Enjolras frowned.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/63905916@N03/32218477457/in/dateposted-public/) .

The response came immediately.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/63905916@N03/32218482477/in/dateposted-public/)

Enjolras didn’t even bother trying to protest. Courfeyrac was an expert at twisting the meaning of words around until you forgot what you were even trying to deny. Sometimes, the best approach was just to ignore him. It shouldn’t even get to Enjolras anymore; Courf had been teasing him about his dating life for as long as they’d known each other.

He sighed and stretched, joints popping after hours of disuse. “Hey Goose, you want to go for another walk?”

Aristaeus, who had been drowsing in the armchair moments before, leapt to his feet in front of Enjolras, tail wagging frantically.

“And can we do it without playing at Iditarod this time?” 

Aristaeus barked happily and turned in a circle. 

“Good boy,” Enjolras praised, scratching his head. “Let’s go, then.”

Mercifully, Aristaeus was much better behaved, the second time around. There were a few times when he pulled too sharply on the leash, but he always stopped as soon as Enjolras commanded. They walked around the entire perimeter of the park and eventually found themselves at an open-air market a few blocks away. Enjolras bought a curry-filled pastry and a couple of pieces of fruit for dinner, and a giant carrot for Goose. It was a beautiful day and he let himself linger, waving at other passers-by and enjoying the sunshine. Several people complimented him on how well-behaved the dog was and Enjolras felt oddly proud, even though he knew he had little to do with it. 

Finally, as the sun began to set, even Aristaeus started flagging and Enjolras turned them towards home. The reached the building with little issue, but when Enjolras went to fish the key out, he had to juggle his bags from the market and they slipped out of his grasp.

“Whoa, let me help you there!” Before the bags could crash to the ground, a woman appeared at his elbow and righted them in Enjolras arms. She stepped back and held the door open. “You’ve got your hands quite full, Monsieur…?”

“Enjolras,” he replied, following her inside. “I’d shake your hand but…”

She shook her head. “Understandable. I’m Fiona. You taking the lift?”

“Yeah, thanks. Floor five.”

She grinned at him. “I’m floor six! Just move in? I didn’t realize we had a new tenant.”

“No, I--”

“Wait a second!” her eyes went wide and she looked from Aristaeus back up at him. “Enjolras. I’ve heard your name before...you're Grantaire’s boyfriend?”

“What?” 

“You’re the one he’s always talking about, right?” she continued, blissfully unaware of Enjolras’ confusion. “Not to be presumptuous, but you’re just as good-looking as he said you were.”

“He said I was his boyfriend?” Enjolras managed, strangled. Fiona caught sight of his expression and faltered.

“No, he never did. It’s just the way he talked about you, it seemed pretty obvious...don’t worry, everyone in this building is really open-minded! And I won’t say anything. I understand it’s intimidating--”

“Thank you,” Enjolras cut her off before she could somehow make things worse. The lift dinged and the doors slid open on his floor. “I, uh, it was very nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too!” she looked apologetic. “Oh, I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable!”

“Not at all,” Enjolras lied, slipping out of the lift. “I’ll see you around.” He winced, realizing that only made it sound more like he was, what? Moving in with Grantaire?

Thankfully, the doors had already closed and Fiona was gone. Enjolras let himself into Grantaire’s apartment and dropped everything on the kitchen table before unhooking Goose from his leash.

“Well,” he muttered to himself. “That was awkward.”

Aristaeus snorted. Enjolras gave him his carrot and went to the bathroom to wash his face, determined to put the last five minutes out of his mind. 

He felt better once he had changed clothes and heated up his curry roll for dinner. Aristaeus was on the living room floor, crunching away at his treat, so Enjolras curled up on the couch with a book. They fell into a companionable silence and Enjolras read until his eyes started to get heavy, and then he switched on the television. There was a John Oliver rerun playing, so he pulled down the throw blanket and settled in to watch it, only readjusting when Goose decided to join him on the sofa. 

Enjolras was just starting to nod off when his phone started to ring. He fumbled for it and saw that Grantaire was video-calling and pressed the answer button before he could think better of it.

“Hello!” Grantaire’s face beamed up at him from the screen. He was wearing a sky-blue beanie and there was a smudge of bright yellow paint over his left eyebrow. “How goes the first-time pet experience?”

“We’re learning together.” Enjolras said with a smile. “How goes the Matisse?”

“It’s brilliant, Enj. It’s not original work, but it’s still so satisfying, and everyone here is so nice.” His eyes were sparkling, and he looked genuinely happy. It was a rare look on Grantaire, and it made Enjolras feel warm all over.

“Maybe that’s why it’s spelled N-I-C-E.” 

Grantaire’s mouth dropped open. “Did you just make a pun?”

“You’ll never be able to prove it.”

“You’re right. The others will never believe me. Damn you!” Grantaire shook a fist at the camera, but his smile was still firmly in place. “How’s Oose doing?”

Enjolras turned the phone so Aristaeus was on the camera. “He was sleeping, but as you can see, he seems to have recognized your voice.”

“How’s my boy?” Grantaire said, adopting the silly talking-to-dogs voice. Aristaeus’ ears perked up and he whined at the phone, shoving at it with his nose. “Are you being good for Enjolras? I miss you.”

“We miss you too,” Enjolras said without thinking. There was a long moment of silence. Since he’d had the phone turned towards the dog, he couldn’t see Grantaire’s face. On the other hand, Grantaire couldn’t see his face either, which was a blessing because it was beet red. “Uh, so, how much of the project have you completed?”

Grantaire let out a shaky breath and Enjolras finally turned the phone back around so he could see him. Grantaire was scrubbing a hand over his face, and his smile had gone tight around the edges. “Hm, probably about a sixth of the way? My goal is to get about twenty-five percent done before my flight Monday morning. That way, if I keep the same level of productivity, it’ll only take three more weekends to get the whole exhibit done.”

“I have faith in you,” Enjolras said. Grantaire stared at him, disbelieving, and Enjolras fought the urge to look away. He didn’t know why every time he talked to him, he managed to shove his foot in his mouth.

“Well,” said Grantaire, “Thanks again for watching Goose for me. I’m glad you guys seem to be getting along.” 

“He’s a great dog,” Enjolras agreed, eager for the subject-change. “He got lots of compliments on our walk today.” He almost told Grantaire about Fiona, and what she had assumed about Enjolras, but he stopped himself at the last minute. It didn't seem like it would go over well.

“Yeah, he is.” Grantaire was smiling again, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Listen, I’ve had a really long day and I’m exhausted, so…”

“Of course!” Enjolras exclaimed, “Go get some rest. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye, Apollo. Bye, Oose.” Before Enjolras could say anything else, Grantaire had disconnected and he was staring down at a blank screen. He dropped his phone on the table and flopped over, using the dog’s side as a pillow.   


“Oh Goose,” he murmured, “What is wrong with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to go with screenshots of the texts instead of italics, which made my life inexplicably harder, why did I do that?


	4. Sunday

Enjolras woke up on Sunday morning to discover that he'd fallen asleep on the couch again and, like the morning before, Aristaeus had fallen asleep on top of him. Unlike the previous morning, his phone was flashing with notifications; three missed calls and a text message. He scrambled upright, ignoring the dog's rumble of protest as he snatched the phone off the coffee table. The screen was dim, battery nearly dead, and the text was from Enjolras’ boss, Valjean, asking him to call as soon as possible.

“Enjolras?” Valjean answered on the first ring, “We have a situation.”

He launched into the story from there, and Enjolras got up, balancing the phone precariously between his shoulder and ear so he could get dressed as he listened. By the time Valjean had finished his explanation, he was already shoving his feet into his shoes.

“Yes sir, yes sir. Okay. I'll be there soon!” He disconnected the call and turned in place, trying to find his laptop bag. Within five minutes, Enjolras was out the door, tapping out a text to Valjean's other aide, Mabeuf, as he went.

Once he actually reached the office, the situation didn't seem quite so dire. Between Valjean, Enjolras, and Mabeuf, the necessary calls were made and a statement was issued. Everything was resolved in a matter of hours.  

“I'm sorry for pulling you gentlemen away from your weekend plans,” Valjean apologized as they locked up the office. “If you don't have anything going on, I'd love to take you to lunch as a thanks for your help.”

It was only then that Enjolras remembered Aristaeus. “Oh, no thank you,” he said. “I'm pet sitting for a friend, so I'd better go.”

Valjean nodded, clapping him on the shoulder. “Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

Enjolras didn't stick around for any additional pleasantries. In his rush to get out the door that morning, he'd completely forgotten to feed or walk the dog. He spent the commute back to the flat alternating between feelings of guilt and dread. This was probably exactly what Grantaire had meant when he worried Enjolras wasn't up for the job. He tended to focus on work to the exclusion of everything else, and that didn't mesh well with a pet who required attention.

Enjolras’ fears turned out to be well-founded. When he unlocked the flat and let himself in, Aristaeus immediately came barreling up to him, whining and jumping up on him. Enjolras sank to his knees and wrapped him up in an embrace.

“I know, Goose, I'm really sorry.” He said, trying to be soothing. “Won't happen again.”

He got to his feet and made it the rest of the way into the flat before he registered the scene of destruction before him.

“Oh no!”

The flat was _ a mess.  _ Aristaeus had managed to get the kitchen cabinets open, and there was dog food spilled across the floor, along with loose pieces of tupperware and cleaning supplies from under the sink. The water dish was overturned, puddling across the tile.

The living room was no better. One of the DVD shelves had been overturned and the cases were everywhere. It looked like the dog had found some kind of portfolio wedged into the bookshelf and, in pulling in loose, all the pages had fluttered out and were papering the floor and furniture. 

“This is my fault,” Enjolras told the dog grimly, “but that doesn't mean I'm not angry.”

Aristaeus wagged his tail. Enjolras sighed.

“Let's go for a walk.”

While he took the dog around the block, Enjolras made a call.

“Jehan speaking.”

“Jehan!” Enjolras tried not to sound too relieved, “I wasn't sure if you were busy.”

“Not today,” Jehan paused. “Is everything okay?”

“I need some help.”

Enjolras quickly filled them in on the situation. Jehan laughed at him at first, but then quickly agreed to come help with cleanup, so Enjolras supposed that was fair. By the time he and Aristaeus got back from their walk, Jehan was waiting for them.

“Hey Goose! Did you make a mess?” Jehan cooed, reaching down to scratch his ears. Enjolras unlocked the door and they filed in. Jehan clicked their tongue disapprovingly, taking in the scene. “Oh, you sure did.”

“You want to divide and conquer?” Enjolras suggested. “It's really only these two rooms that he destroyed. Bedroom and bathroom doors were closed, thankfully.”

Jehan nodded. “I'll take the kitchen, you take the living room?”

“Sounds like a plan,” agreed Enjolras.

“Aristaeus!” Jehan said, “Go lie down in the hallway and stay out of the way for a bit, okay?”

The dog listened intently and, to Enjolras’ surprise, immediately turned and trotted down the hall as instructed. Enjolras turned to Jehan, eyebrow arched in surprise.

“How did you do that?”

Jehan shrugged. “I'm good with animals, and Goose already knows me.” They grinned at Enjolras. “Probably would've been watching him myself if I didn't have other plans Friday and Saturday.”

“Yeah, where were you, anyway?” asked Enjolras curiously. “I know a lot of people who had Valentine's plans, but I never heard you mention anything.”

Jehan's answering smile was mysterious. “I suppose I also had Valentine's plans, of a sort.”

Enjolras had known Jehan long enough to recognize that he wasn't likely to get an answer any clearer than that. “Alright, keep your secrets. I'm going to tackle the living room.”

“Don't sound so glum!” Jehan chided, “We can order pizza when we're done!” They vanished into the kitchen and there was nothing for him to do but go deal with the mess in the other room.

Enjolras wasn't really sure how to go about handling the movies, since there hadn't seemed to be a particular system of organization before they'd been knocked down. He satisfied himself with stacking them alphabetically by title, and then moved onto the papers.

The first one he picked up was a colored pencil drawing of the Parisian skyline, rendered with so much detail that Enjolras would have suspected it was copied from a photo, had anyone else drawn it. But if anyone could draw Paris from memory, it was Grantaire. He smiled and slid it carefully back into the accordion folder he'd fished out from under the coffee table.

Enjolras picked up another drawing off the rug. It was a picture of a figure in profile, a halo of golden hair hiding most of the subject's face. At first glance, he thought it was Cosette, but the chin was rather too angular. Frowning, he put it into the folder. 

The next one featured the same blond curls, but this time they were pulled back with a ribbon. This time, Enjolras recognized the angular chin and the turned-up nose. Even if he hadn't, there was no mistaking his own blue eyes glaring back at him. 

“What--?” 

It was no secret that Grantaire drew the people he knew; half of the sketchbooks he brought to meetings were filled with sketches of Les Amis. Some of them, like Jehan and Courfeyrac, loved to see the drawings--Courf even had one of himself hanging on his fridge. Others, like Marius and Joly were more self-conscious and Grantaire only drew them with explicit permission. Enjolras had never seen a single picture of himself, and Grantaire had certainly never asked to draw him. Yet here he was, sketched out in red and gold, like some sort of fierce Greek god come to life.

It didn't  _ look _ like the kind of picture someone drew of a person they hated.

“Hey, Enj--” Jehan appeared in the doorway. “Oh.”

Enjolras froze, paper crinkling in his hands. He loosened his grip, flattening out the corner where he'd crumpled it. “I, uh, I didn't know he ever drew me.”

Jehan looked oddly wary. “He draws all of his friends.”

“Yeah, but…” Enjolras floundered. “He and I. We're not exactly friends, are we? R doesn't think so.”

“R isn't always great at looking at things from an objective point of view,” Jehan said with a frown. “You know he doesn't think very highly of himself. Can't you see how he might interpret your bickering as animosity?”

“But I _ like  _ our bickering!” Enjolras protested. Jehan's eyebrows shot up and he immediately tried to backtrack. “What I mean is, it's just how we are with each other. It's certainly not because I dislike him! Half the time, arguing with Grantaire shows me how to improve my case.”

“Have you ever told R any of this?” Jehan said shrewdly. 

“Well...no. I thought he knew. Why would he keep engaging if he thought I didn't actually like him?”

“Grantaire has his own reasons for the things he chooses to do,” Jehan answered. “The best  _ you _ can do is be honest with him about how you feel, instead of leaving it for him to assume the worst.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “I should talk to him.”

“When he gets _ home _ ,” Jehan replied pointedly as Enjolras started to reach for his cell phone. “Don't go distracting him while he's working, that won't do anyone any good.”

“Right. Obviously.” He knew Jehan was right, but that didn't take away his sudden, urgent need to talk to Grantaire. Enjolras fiddled with the edges of the drawing, looking anywhere but at his friend. It felt like there was something solid lodged in his throat, and his heart was racing, but he didn't understand why. Grantaire had always been the only one able to inspire such feelings in him. Enjolras shouldn't have been surprised that he could do it, even from hundreds of miles away.

Jehan sighed, expression kind. “Let’s finish cleaning up, okay? I ordered a pizza, and maybe we can put on a movie.”

“What kind of pizza?”

“I got half-margherita, half-Hawaiian, because your eating habits are truly disgusting.” Jehan said, but they were barely containing a smile.

Enjolras beamed back. “You’re an excellent friend, Jean Prouvaire.” 

“So I’ve been told. C’mon, let’s finish this up.”

An hour later, the flat was back in order, and Jehan and Enjolras were sprawled on the couch, eating pizza and watching some movie of Jehan’s choosing, with lots of spindly architecture and broody gentlemen in dim lighting. Aristaeus was snoring in the armchair with his green rabbit tucked under his paws.

Enjolras’ phone buzzed with an incoming text and he glanced at the screen, heart leaping into his throat when he realized it was from Grantaire.

_ [ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/63905916@N03/40359004073/in/dateposted-public/) _

Enjolras snapped a picture of the dog, grinning, and sent it to Grantaire.

_ [ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/63905916@N03/33448128808/in/dateposted-public/) _

Jehan shifted, nudging their head against Enjolras’ shoulder. “Everything okay?” they murmured.

“Yes,” Enjolras said quietly. “I think everything is going to be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the beginning of this chapter might feel kind of rushed, but that's only because I realized after I already had it outlined that I had absolutely no details about Enj's work life in place, and I didn't care to come up with them, since that's not the focus of the story. Apologies and thank you for your indulgence. <3


	5. Monday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up--I had a busy couple of weeks. Also, fair warning, this chapter has a bit of a tonal change, but don't worry! You know the formula; things have to get bad before they can get really good. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading. See you with the next chapter soon!

Enjolras had the day off from work on Monday, so he had planned on sleeping in. Unfortunately, Aristaeus didn't seem to care about his intentions. A quarter after eight in the morning, there was a sudden, booming bark from outside the bedroom door. Enjolras lurched upright, flailing with the tangled sheets, and toppled to the floor. The dog kept barking as Enjolras struggled to extract himself from the mess of bedclothes, only stopping when he wrenched open the door.

As soon as they made eye contact, Goose's ears twitched forward and he started wagging his tail frantically. He looked so cute that Enjolras couldn't even find it in himself to be irritated.

“I guess you got used to me falling asleep on the couch, huh?”

Aristaeus shoved his head against Enjolras’ knee in response. He chuckled, leaning down to scratch behind the dog's ears.

“Alright, alright. Let's get you some breakfast.”

Enjolras filled Goose's bowl with kibble and started the coffee pot. He wasn't quite awake yet, so it took him several minutes to realize his phone was buzzing on the countertop. He blinked a few times and finally noticed Combeferre's name flashing on the caller ID, and snatched it up. “Hello?”

_ “Gooooooood morning, gorgeous!” _ crooned Courfeyrac,  _ “Happy Valentine's Day! Have you confessed your undying love to Grantaire yet?” _

“Uhhh,” Enjolras replied. “What?”

Courf sighed.  _ “Jehan said--” _

“Jehan said I was in love with Grantaire?” Enjolras squeaked. He could feel heat flooding his face. “I didn't--”

_ “Not exactly,”  _ Courfeyrac sounded a little more subdued.  _ “They said you had almost figured it out. Only you could get this close to an epiphany and not get it, I swear to…” _

Courfeyrac was still talking, but it faded to background noise as Enjolras thought back on the conversation he'd had with Jehan the day before.

_ I like our bickering, it's just how we are with each other… _

_ Be honest with him about how you feel… _

Enjolras thought about how good it made him feel to see Grantaire truly happy, and how much it hurt to realize that the artist didn't consider him a friend. He thought about how he always looked for him first thing at the meetings. About how he couldn't quite focus if Grantaire didn't chime in with counterpoints to all his arguments. Enjolras’ mouth fell open and a strangled sound came out.

Courfeyrac paused in his monologue.  _ “Enj, are you okay?” _

“I--I think I have feelings for Grantaire,” he said faintly.

There was silence from the other end of the phone for a long moment. Then he heard Courfeyrac speaking away from the phone, sounding strained.

_ “Ferre, babe, can you come here for a minute? I broke Enjolras.” _

_ “Courfeyrac, what did you do?” _

Enjolras sank into one of the kitchen chairs, feeling dizzy. He still had the phone pressed to his ear and caught snatches of the tinny argument has friends were having, but his mind was reeling too fast to make sense of any of it.

_ “...said we wouldn't interfere…” _

_ “I make jokes about it all the time, he usually just blows me off!” _

_ “Enjolras?”  _ Combeferre's voice made him snap to attention.  _ “I have you on speaker. Are you okay?” _

Enjolras snorted. “Define 'okay’.”

_ “Fey says you said you have feelings for Grantaire?” _

“I do!” Enjolras groaned. “Oh my god, how did I not notice? This is why I make things awkward every time I talk to him! Oh no, oh no, oh no…”

_ “Enj, deep breaths, okay? This is not the end of the world.” _

Enjolras took a few deep breaths as instructed, Combeferre's deep, level voice doing wonders to calm him down. Aristaeus crept out from under the table and laid his head in Enjolras’ lap and he found that stroking the dog's fur helped, too.

“Of course it's not the end of the world,” he retorted, almost managing to sound like himself again. “But it's not exactly a great idea to go and develop feelings someone who barely tolerates you.”

More silence from the other end of the phone, but this time, it lasted even longer. There seemed to be a heavy significance to the quiet. Enjolras could visualize the silent conversation his two best friends were having as though they were right in front of him, though he couldn't begin to imagine what it was about.

_ “Enjolras, it's not my place to tell you how to handle this,”  _ Combeferre said, finally.  _ “But I think a lot can be said about the value of open and honest communication.” _

“You think I should tell him,” Enjolras said flatly. “Even after he's made perfectly clear how he feels about me.”

_ “I don't think those words mean what you think they mean--”  _ Courfeyrac started, then cut off with a sudden gasp, like he'd been elbowed in the ribs.

_ “What I think doesn't matter, Enjolras. It's your decision to make.”  _

“Why do you have to be so logical all the time?” Enjolras grumbled. 

Combeferre laughed.  _ “God knows, one of us has to be.” _

“Yeah, okay,” Enjolras replied begrudgingly. “I'll keep your advice in mind.”

_ “We love you!”  _ Courfeyrac piped up.  _ “And we'll be home tomorrow, so if you need us, just let us know.” _

“Thanks, guys. I'll talk to you later.” Enjolras ended the call and tossed his phone on the table. Aristaeus still had his head in his lap, big brown eyes peering up at him. “Thank you too, I guess. You’re a good boy.”

Aristaeus wagged his tail furiously in response, and went back to chomping the kibble in his bowl. After a few moments of staring bleakly into the middle distance, Enjolras decided he should probably have some breakfast, too. His stomach was twisting into knots, so he choked down a couple of pieces of plain toast and a cup off coffee before retreating to the living room with his laptop.

It only took Enjolras twenty minutes to figure out that he didn’t have the mental capacity to do anything productive with the day, so he switched on the television and popped in another movie. He sat through almost an hour of it before he realized that he hadn’t taken in a single plot detail and had no idea what was happening. Frustrated, he jabbed the off button on the remote with a little more force than necessary and stood up. Aristaeus, who had reclaimed the armchair sometime in the last hour, watched him pace the room with what might have been concern.

Enjolras stopped in front of the bookcase. He hadn’t been exactly sure where the accordion file of Grantaire’s drawings had been originally, so he had settled for putting it on the top-most shelf. It felt like it was mocking him. He eyed it dubiously. 

On the one hand, he’d already seen some of the artwork, and it wasn’t likely that looking at it again would offer him anymore insight into Grantaire’s perspective of him.

On the other hand, Jehan had been rather swift about picking up the remaining pieces last night, and Enjolras hadn’t gotten a look at the rest of them. There might be more drawings of him. 

“No, no, no,” he said outloud. “I’m not a snoop, I need to respect Grantaire’s privacy. He let me stay in his house, it would be a huge violation of his trust to intentionally look through his personal effects.”

The dog was watching him, head tilted to the side, eyes intent. Enjolras tore his own eyes away from the portfolio. “This is so stupid. Let’s just go for a walk.”

 

The brisk winter air went a little ways towards clearing Enjolras’ head. Goose seemed to enjoy himself, too, happy to go through the park at a casual pace and no particular direction in mind. Bit by bit, Enjolras felt himself start to relax. Sure, he had been forced to confront some long-standing feelings that weren’t exactly what he’d always thought they were, but it Combeferre was right, it wasn’t the end of the world. And even if he did eventually decide to try to talk to Grantaire about it, he certainly didn’t have to make that choice today. Everything would be  _ fine _ . 

Enjolras and Aristaeus turned the corner and Grantaire’s building came into view at the end of the street. When they got closer, Enjolras could see that someone else was at the door to the building. The green hoodie gave it away seconds before the dog recognized his owner. With a joyful bark, Goose bounded up to Grantaire, dragging the hapless Enjolras along for the ride. 

“Hey--” Grantaire started to say before he clocked the speed with which they were tearing towards him. His eyes widened. Enjolras slammed into him, automatically reaching out to steady himself. Grantaire’s arms came up and caught him by the elbows, saving him from embarrassingly crumpling to the pavement. 

Goose ran in circles around them, barking excitedly. Seconds too late, Enjolras realized what was happening as the leash tightened around his knees, knocking him into Grantaire again. Before either of them could do anything about it, they were hopelessly lashed together from knee to ankle. Enjolras had one hand on Grantaire’s shoulder and the other was still twisted in the handle of the leash, pulling his right arm uncomfortably around Grantaire’s waist, bringing them chest-to-chest.

“Um...hello.” He said stupidly, glancing up at Grantaire. Their faces were very close together. “Sorry, ah, he recognized you before I did. How was your flight?”

Grantaire’s eyes were still wide, his face scarlet. “Uh, yeah. Let’s--let’s save the pleasantries for after we get untangled.”

“How do we do that?” 

“Can you get your hand unlooped from the handle of the leash?” 

Enjolras twisted his hand experimentally and his fingers brushed bare skin. Grantaire twitched. “Oh, uh, sorry!” He pulled again. “I think it’s too tight.”

“Then I’m gonna try and unhook it from his collar,” Grantaire said in a shaky voice. “Hold still.”

It wasn’t physically possibly for Enjolras to hold himself more still than he already was, but it seemed pointless to say it, so he bit his tongue. Grantaire released his elbow and reached around his side to where Goose had laid down at Enjolras’ feet.

“Hey Ooosey Goosey,” Grantaire cajoled. “Can you come here, buddy?”

The dog leapt to his feet and Enjolras lurched, fingers digging into Grantaire’s shoulder to keep his balance. Goose took a couple of steps forward and Grantaire made a triumphant noise. Enjolras could hear him fumbling with something and then there was a click and the leash around their legs went slack. 

Relief coursed through Enjolras as he stepped out of Grantaire’s personal space, shaking some feeling back into his legs. Grantaire reached out, whippet quick, and caught a hold of Oose’s collar, reattaching it to the leash. “I’m so sorry, he’s way stronger than me.”

Grantaire snorted. “Yeah, I kind of gathered that when you came barreling towards me at 150 kilometers an hour.” 

Enjolras flushed. “ _ Anyway _ . How was your trip?” He picked up Grantaire’s duffle bag where it had fallen on the sidewalk and followed him into the building, pressing the elevator call button with his elbow.

Grantaire’s whole face lit up. “It was incredible! Nice is a beautiful town, and the museum people were so obliging and complimentary. They really seem to think I can do this.”

“You  _ can _ do this, R, or they wouldn’t have hired you.” Enjolras pointed out. 

“I guess. But it’s still shocking, right? Biggest commission I’ve ever received. I think I got more work done this weekend than I have in the last month.”

“That’s great!” Enjolras said, “What all did you--” 

There was a ding and the elevator doors slid open to reveal Fiona, clutching a cup of coffee and a folder full of papers. Her eyes widened a fraction and she gave them a hesitant smile. Enjolras felt the color drain out of his face.

“Hey, Fiona, how are you?” Grantaire asked, friendly as usual. 

“Hey, Grantaire! Listen, I’m sure Enjolras told you, but I’m really sorry about what I said to him the other day. It’s none of my business and I shouldn’t assume that--”

“Um, what are you talking about?” Grantaire interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

“About asking Enjolras about--”

“Nothing!” Enjolras interjected. “It was absolutely nothing, Fiona, I told you. Just a silly misunderstanding.”

Fiona opened her mouth and closed it again. Enjolras could feel Grantaire glancing between the two of them, but he didn’t dare look at him, putting all his energy into willing the woman in the elevator to drop the subject. He offered her a bright smile and, gradually, she smiled back.

“Yes. It was silly. I’m sorry.” She straightened up, peeking at her watch. “Well, gents, I must be off. Lots to do! I’m sure I’ll see you later. Buh-bye!” 

She brushed past them and hurried out of the building without a backwards glance. Enjolras hefted up the duffle bag and stepped onto the elevator. After a moment’s pause, Grantaire and Aristaeus joined him. 

“What was that about?” 

Enjolras couldn’t gauge Grantaire’s tone, and his expression was calculatedly neutral. He shrugged, trying to look casual. “She just, uh, wanted to know why I was staying at your flat. I think she feels like she came across too aggressively.” It wasn’t completely untrue.

“Hm.” Grantaire replied, which was infuriatingly vague. Enjolras let his gaze drift to the lights over the door so he wouldn’t stare, and they rode the rest of the way in silence.

When they arrived in the flat, Goose vanished into the kitchen, leaving Grantaire and Enjolras standing awkwardly in the living room. 

“I, uh, I guess I should get my stuff together and head--”

“What happened to the DVDs?” Grantaire said suddenly, looking at the bookshelf.

“Oh, um. They got knocked down, but I wasn’t sure what your organizational system was, so I put them back alphabetically.”

“They were sorted by release year,” Grantaire said, almost absently. Enjolras saw the exact moment when he caught sight of the portfolio, because his whole body went rigid. 

“Your portfolio got knocked down, too,” Enjolras said before he could ask. “But don’t worry, none of the drawings were damaged or anything.”

Grantaire’s face was white. “You looked at my drawings?”

“I only saw them as I was putting them away,” Enjolras replied, unsure if he sounded reassuring or defensive. “I wasn’t snooping or anything.”

Grantaire didn’t say anything else, eyes on the floor. Enjolras swallowed his nerves and spoke again.

“I didn’t know you’d ever drawn me before.”

Grantaire’s eyes flew to his face. “Enjolras…”

“No, it’s okay. I would’ve given you permission if you’d just asked.” He hesitated. “Why didn’t you ever ask, though?”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire closed his eyes as if he were in pain. “Can we please,  _ please _ not do this right now? Or preferably, ever?”

“I just want to know--”   


“I think you know perfectly well why I didn’t, and frankly, it’s kind of cruel that you want to hear me say it outloud!” Grantaire snapped, angry all at once. 

Enjolras felt himself bristling at his tone. “No, actually, I don’t! I have no  _ idea  _ why you do anything, especially when it comes to me!”

“Somebody’s got a high opinion of themselves,” Grantaire grumbled. “Not everything is about you, Enjolras!”

“This definitely is, though!” he insisted. “I heard what you said about me to Courfeyrac and Eponine last week.”

Enjolras had thought that Grantaire’s face couldn’t get any paler, but he had been wrong. Grantaire looked furious, or like he was going to be sick. “Get out,” he said hoarsely.

“What?”

“Get. Out.” Grantaire repeated, turning away from him. “This is my house, I don’t have to explain myself to you.” His hands were trembling.

“Grantaire…”

“Just get out!” Grantaire yelled, and Enjolras flinched.

“Okay, I’ll go,” he said quietly. “Just let me get my things.” He brushed past Grantaire on his way to the guest room, trying not to give away just how much his own body was trembling. He gathered his things as quickly as he could and hurried back out into the living room to grab his laptop. Grantaire had disappeared. The last thing he saw before he rushed out of the flat was Aristaeus huddled under the kitchen table, whining, with his ears flat against his head.


	6. Thursday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, it's finally done! Thanks so much for your patience with a WIP that was spawned by a random mental image that wouldn't go away. This story has gotten a lot of really dedicated responses, and they bring me such joy. I appreciate you sticking with me as I let this process drag out, and I hope you enjoy this final chapter.

To say that the rest of the week was bad would be an understatement.

Even though it had been nearly four whole days since Enjolras had been to his flat, he couldn’t enjoy it. All his friends knew he was a bit of a homebody--sometimes even preferring to make the trip home late at night just so he could sleep in his own bed. But after the argument with Grantaire, his little studio felt cold and lonely. Enjolras didn’t have art prints from every era on his walls. He didn’t have a massive record collection, or word magnets arranged into dirty poems on the refrigerator. He didn’t have a cuddly dog with more emotional intelligence than he himself had.

As soon as he got home, Enjolras tried to call Grantaire. There was still a current of anger and confusion thrumming under his skin, and he had no idea what he was going to say, so it was almost a relief when his call was sent straight to voicemail. 

“Hey. Uh. It’s me. Can we please talk? Preferably without shouting. I didn’t mean to upset you, I wasn’t…” Halfway through leaving his message, Enjolras realized there was a very good chance that Grantaire was just going to delete it without even listening. He hung up with a sigh and tossed his phone on the coffee table. 

He didn’t get anything productive done for the rest of the day, and went to bed early, eager to at least have the distraction of being back at work on Tuesday.

 

*

 

Work wasn’t a very good distraction. Enjolras had arrived to the office as early as reasonable, already on his fourth cup of coffee. He had tossed and turned all night, replaying the argument in his head and when he woke up in the morning with no soft green throw blanket or heavy dog weight against his side, he remembered the disaster all over again. 

“You’re here early,” commented Mabeuf as Enjolras dropped his bag onto the desk. 

He gave the older man a wan smile. “What can I say? I’ve never been very good at taking time off work.” 

Mabeuf chuckled and turned back to his computer. Enjolras let the smile slip off of his face, slumping in his chair. Better get caught up on all the emails he’d surely missed. 

Twenty minutes later, his phone chirped with an incoming message. Enjolras snatched it up instantly, desperate hope rising in his chest. 

It wasn’t from Grantaire. He pushed away his disappointment and opened the text message, which was from Courfeyrac.

_[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/63905916@N03/33680577058/in/dateposted-public/) _

Enjolras frowned. 

_[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/63905916@N03/33680579658/in/dateposted-public/) _

Almost as soon as he’d sent his response, Enjolras phone started to ring, Courf’s name appearing on the display. He hit ignore. A few minutes later, it started to ring again, but this time it was Combeferre. He ignored that one too. Never one to be deterred, Ferre texted him. 

_[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/63905916@N03/32614839757/in/dateposted-public/) _

There didn’t seem to be much more to say, so Enjolras put his phone into his desk drawer and got back to work. 

 

*

 

Les Amis met on Wednesdays, and Enjolras held onto that like a lifeline. Despite his insistence that they weren’t ever going to make permanent change, Grantaire never missed a meeting. Even if they’d fought the week before, come Wednesday, there he was at the back corner table, a sardonic grin on his face. He’d come to meetings drunk, bruised, and ill. On one eventful occasion, he and Enjolras had arrived together after sharing a holding cell the night before. Enjolras could count on one hand the number of times he had actually missed.

So when he arrived to see the back table empty on Wednesday night, Enjolras realized exactly how badly he’d fucked up. He waited an extra five minutes to call the meeting to order, ignoring Courfeyrac’s concerned glances and Eponine’s murderous glares. Still, Grantaire didn’t appear, and with every passing second, Enjolras felt more and more miserable. 

“Um, okay, let’s get started,” he said finally, when it became apparent that Grantaire wasn't coming. 

Everyone seemed to be picking up on the tension. Jehan was wearing a melancholy frown, Joly was whispering in Bossuet’s ear and Bahorel kept shooting looks at the empty table in the back. Enjolras couldn’t focus; not on what he was supposed to be saying and not on any of the questions that were being directed at him. 

“I...I need some air,” he blurted out suddenly, interrupting Cosette’s explanation of how they’d spent their marketing dollars this week. “Ferre, can you…?” 

Combeferre nodded, already moving to take Enjolras’ place. Enjolras practically fled the room, taking the stairs two at a time until he was finally outside. It was still winter, and in the dark it was cold enough that he was shivering, but he’d left his coat upstairs and wasn’t about to go back for it.

The whole situation was so unbearably stupid. Enjolras knew he wasn’t the most emotionally astute person in the world, but he had never felt it as much as he did right now. He just wanted to fix it.

With shaking fingers, he pulled out his phone and dialed Grantaire’s number. It didn’t even ring before sending him to voicemail.

_ Hey, you’ve reached R’s phone. I’m probably sleeping it off, so leave a message and I’ll call you back later. Ciao! _

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said softly. “You aren't at the meeting tonight. I--I miss you. We all do. You never skip meetings. I must’ve really fucked up, huh?” He trailed off, pacing under the streetlight as he tried to gather his thoughts. “I’m sorry. I don’t know exactly what I did, but I’m really sorry and if you just tell me, it’ll never happen again. Please, just please talk to me.” 

He hung up the phone with a sigh and shoved it back into his pocket. When he craned his neck back, he could see the meeting room window, silhouettes of his friends moving on the other side of the glass. He didn’t think he could face them just now. Pulling his sleeves down over his hands, Enjolras turned away from the Musain and started the long walk home.

 

*

 

Most of Thursday passed in a haze. After another sleepless night, Enjolras found himself in his office, staring blankly at his laptop screen while his third cup of coffee went cold at his elbow. This is how Combeferre found him, when he stopped by to drop off his coat over lunch.

“You left this at the Musain last night,” he said with a hint of reproach in his voice. “When you decided to go home without letting anyone know.”

“I know, I know.” Enjolras mumbled, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

Combeferre’s expression gentled. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, and Enjolras knew he didn’t mean the abandoned coat. 

“He hates me, Ferre,” he said even as he shook his head. “I tried to talk to him and he told me to get out of his house. He won’t answer any of my calls or messages. I think I really messed up.”

For a long moment, Combeferre didn’t say anything, his lips pressed together thoughtfully. “Obviously, I can’t speak for Grantaire, but I’m certain he doesn’t hate you.”

“You weren’t there, Ferre! He looked like he was going to be sick, and then he screamed at me to leave.”

Combeferre’s brow furrowed. He looked genuinely confused. “That’s what he said when you told him you had feelings for him?” 

“I didn’t even get the chance!” Enjolras cried, slumping over his desk dejectedly. “I admitted I’d overhead his conversation before the meeting last week, when he said that we weren’t friends. And he got really angry. I know I shouldn’t have listened in on his conversation, but--”

“Enjolras,” interrupted Combeferre. His usually calm expression looked almost pained. “You really need to talk to him. And say what you need to say, clearly and concisely. It’s obvious there’s some kind of miscommunication going on here, and you aren’t going to solve anything without clearing it up.”

“But how am I supposed to do that if he won’t answer my calls?”

Combeferre shrugged helplessly. “I guess you keep trying until he does.”

 

*

 

It was late when Enjolras got home from work. He wasn't keen on facing the empty flat, so he had stayed late, getting a head-start on his next project. When he flipped on the lights in his flat, he almost wondered if this was worse. There was something depressing about arriving home to an empty house after the sun had already set.

Flinging himself down on the sofa, Enjolras hit the redial button to call Grantaire again. Yet again, he was sent straight to voicemail. Enjolras didn't even bother leaving another message, he just ended the call. 

“How am I supposed to say sorry if you won't answer the damn phone?” he grumbled at the ceiling. 

He had toyed with the idea of just going to Grantaire's flat and banging on the door until he was granted entrance, but it seemed unfair. If Grantaire didn't want to speak to him, Enjolras was going to have to respect that. Which meant he should probably stop trying to call him as well.

Dejected, Enjolras tipped sideways on the couch and hugged a cushion to his chest. He felt incredibly aware of how maudlin and childish he was being, but he was too upset to actually stop. He was so engrossed in his moping that he didn't hear someone knocking on the door, at first.

The knocks got louder and more insistent, and Enjolras sat up. “Hello?”

There was no answer, just a pause before the knocking resumed. Probably Courfeyrac, unable to let anyone wallow in a bad mood for long. Heaving a sigh, Enjolras dragged himself up from the sofa, across the room, and flung the door open.

He had only a split second to register a joyful bark and a flash of black fur before he found himself flat on his back. All the air rushed out of his lungs. He put his arms up in a vain attempt to fend off the over enthusiastic dog-kisses he was suddenly receiving. Somewhere above, he heard a familiar voice swearing.

“Dammit, Goose! We've talked about the jumping!” Grantaire grabbed the dog's collar and bodily hauled him off of Enjolras. “Shit, are you okay?”

“What are you doing here?” Enjolras gasped, winded and off-center. Only after the words were out of his mouth did he realize how bad they sounded. And he certainly didn't want to have this conversation from the floor. He climbed to his feet while Grantaire watched from several steps away, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Aristaeus,” he said, when Enjolras was vertical again. “He...missed you.”

“Oh.” Enjolras swallowed back his disappointment. Avoiding Grantaire's eyes, he crouched next to the dog and scratched his ears. Hey buddy. I missed you too.”

Grantaire made a noise somewhere between a huff and a growl. “I don't understand you.”

Enjolras didn't dare look at him. He kept petting Aristaeus, focusing on the soft fur under his hands. “What do you mean?”

“You're so…” Grantaire hesitated, clearly searching for the right words. “You can't ever just let anything go, can you?”

“I think it's usually best to be straightforward.”

“It isn't always best, Enjolras,” Grantaire said quietly.

Hearing Grantaire vocally disagree with him had always made Enjolras bold. He straightened up, making direct eye contact. “Why not? How could it possibly be better to live in the dark about how someone feels about you?”

Grantaire was pale again, lips twisted unhappily. Looking at him made Enjolras’ chest ache. “Because it  _ hurts _ , okay? It hurts to know when someone feels that way about you, and there's nothing you can do to change it.”

Enjolras swallowed. “Yeah, it does,” he agreed. “But I would prefer a painful truth to a sweet lie.”

“Of course you would.” Grantaire scoffed, but there was no real bite to his voice. He looked away, scuffing a toe across the rug. “So where does that leave us?”

Enjolras dragged a hand down his face. “It's whatever you want,” he said, trying not to sound defeated. “You don't have to be friends with me if you don't want to. I'm not entitled to your friendship.”

Grantaire frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“This whole thing!” Enjolras gestured between them, trying to keep his voice even. The conversation had left him feeling drained, and he just wanted Grantaire to leave so he could wallow in peace. “You don't consider me a friend and have no interest in changing that. That's fine. It's up to you how we proceed. I mean, we’re going to see each other--I'm not going to stop running meetings, but I can certainly keep my distance--”

“Enjolras!” Grantaire cut him off. “Where are you getting the idea that I don't want to be your friend?”

Enjolras stared at him. “Uhhh, because you said so? To Courf and Ep last week. Did you forget that you threw me out of your flat when you found out I'd listened in on your conversation?”

“That's not why I threw you out.”

“What?”

Grantaire bit his lip. “I thought--” he stopped abruptly.

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. “You thought what?”

“I never said I didn't  _ want _ to be your friend,” Grantaire said instead of answering the question. “I just said we aren't exactly friends.”

“I consider you my friend,” Enjolras murmured.

An expression flashed across Grantaire's face, too quickly to interpret. “You're kidding,” he said, voice flat.

“Do I give the impression that I would joke about something like this?” Enjolras snapped. Grantaire winced.

“No, don't be stupid. But you have to admit, it's pretty weird. We fight constantly, I don't share any of your beliefs, and I drink too much. Sometimes I go out of my way to annoy you--”

“You would do anything for your friends,” Enjolras interrupted. “Even if you're skeptical, your compassion is obvious to anyone who knows you. You are clever and funny, and I don't understand why you think so little of yourself!”

Grantaire’s face was scarlet. “This is not how I saw this conversation going.”

“I've probably gotten a little bit off track,” Enjolras admitted. “All I really wanted was a chance to apologize, but at this point I'm not entirely sure what I am apologizing for.”

“It doesn't matter anymore,” Grantaire said. “I misunderstood and overreacted.”

That wasn't exactly what Enjolras wanted to hear, but it was good enough for Grantaire. “Okay.”

Grantaire sighed. “You look like a sad puppy. And I'm usually pretty impervious to that look.” He gestured at Goose, who was lying at his feet.

“I just...I feel like we haven't...really resolved the friendship thing?”

“You're saying you want to be friends?” Grantaire clarified. He still appeared to be baffled by the whole notion.

Enjolras nodded. “Only if you want to, though. You're not obligated to be my friend.”

“Christ, Enjolras, it's not like it's a hardship.”

“But if we're going to be friends, I need to be honest about something.” Enjolras felt his heart rate pick up. “I don't want you to feel like I'm trying to trick you.”

Grantaire snorted. “You really don't have a disingenuous bone in your body, do you?”

“I have feelings for you,” Enjolras said in a rush. “Feelings that are romantic in nature and I just want to be upfront about it. I don’t have any ulterior motives for being your friend, and I’m totally fine with the fact that you don’t feel the same way about me.”

His statement was met with the longest silence Enjolras had ever endured. Grantaire was staring at him like he’d never seen him before. He could feel heat rising to his face, but still, Grantaire didn’t move or speak or give any indication that he had registered the words.

“R?” he ventured, struggling to hide the obvious strain in his voice. “Can you please say something? Anything?”

Grantaire blinked. He took a shaky breath. When he finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper, his voice trembling. “You...have feelings...for...me?”

Enjolras nodded. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I thought you deserved to know.”   

“Holy shit,” Grantaire managed and then he started laughing. They was an edge of hysteria to the sound. The dog peered up at him, clearly concerned. Enjolras couldn't help but agree.     

“Are you okay?” he asked gently.

Grantaire wiped some tears from the corner of his eyes, still giggling. “I--I’m sorry. Oh my God!” He dissolved into another, slightly less manic fit of laughter. “It--it’s just that--Jesus, Enjolras--I’ve been in love with you for nearly five years.”

“ _ What? _ ” 

“I thought you knew!” Grantaire said breathlessly. “For a long time! I thought you knew and were--were just, like, politely ignoring it. And then you said you overheard me talking to Courfeyrac and Eponine, and I thought that you had finally decided to confront me about it and that seemed kind of shitty and mean…”

“Oh my God,” Enjolras said. He felt a little faint. “Combeferre was right. We’re idiots.” 

“Complete fucking idiots.” Grantaire agreed. 

Enjolras couldn't look away. Grantaire’s eyes were sparkling and his cheeks were flushed. He looked happy, if shocked. He looked like the best thing Enjolras had ever seen. “Can I kiss you?” he blurted out.

Grantaire’s eyes went wide. “This is the wildest day of my life. Yes, holy shit, of course you can.”

Enjolras stepped closer to him, putting a hand on the back of Grantaire’s neck and pulling him in until their foreheads were touching. Grantaire watched him disbelievingly, lips parting slightly on a shuddering exhale. Enjolras kept his movements slow, suddenly aware of how fragile the moment was. Grantaire’s eyes fluttered closed.                           

A sharp bark broke the expectant silence. Enjolras jumped, conking their heads together and Grantaire started to laugh again.

“C'mon man, you can't let your dad get the one kiss he's been dreaming about forever?” Grantaire was glaring at the dog, amusement warring with annoyance on his face, but Enjolras could only focus on the words. 

Grantaire had always been able to rile him up with just a few words.

Enjolras grabbed Grantaire and reeled him back in. He was gonna give him a kiss worth dreaming about. Before he lost his nerve, Enjolras breached the final few inches between them and pressed his lips to Grantaire's.    

Grantaire gasped into his mouth and Enjolras caught his bottom lip between his teeth, nipping lightly. He could feel Grantaire shivering against him, so he did it again. Grantaire retaliated by licking into his mouth and it was Enjolras’ turn to groan and shudder. Grantaire walked him backwards until Enjolras’ back thudded against the door and they were pressed so closely together he couldn't tell where one of them ended and the other began. Grantaire's fingers sank into his hair, tugging gently, calluses catching on curls. Enjolras swallowed a moan and wrapped his arms around Grantaire, trying to somehow bring him even closer.

Kissing Grantaire was like debating him; equal parts push and pull, wonderfully familiar, and something that Enjolras never wanted to stop doing.    

“Fuck,” Grantaire panted when Enjolras pulled away from his mouth in favor of biting at the column of his throat. “This can't actually be real life.”

“It is, R, I promise.” Enjolras’ heart was doing cartwheels in his chest. “This is real and I'm so in love with you.”

Watching the smile spread across Grantaire's face was like seeing the sun come out after weeks of rain. “You love me,” he repeated, eyes alight with wonder.

“I really, really do.” Enjolras assured him, dragging him in for another kiss. It took him a few minutes to register that the barking had started again, and only because Grantaire was pulling away with a rueful chuckle.

“I think The Goose needs to go outside.” 

Aristaeus wagged his tail, grinning up at them.

“Then let's take him for a walk,” Enjolras suggested, reaching out to take Grantaire's hand. “Together.”


End file.
